


Home Is Where The Heart Is

by ashleycoleslaw



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Borussia Dortmund, Götzeus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleycoleslaw/pseuds/ashleycoleslaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario misses home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> The title is lame as hell, but it suits this angsty drabble. There might be some mistakes, feel free to tell me if you find any. As I've probably said before, English is my second language so please keep that in mind.

Mario is fine. He's happy in Bayern Munich, beneath the oh almighty Guardiola. He's ready to play soon, ready to show everyone what he's capable of. He's ready to improve and improve and improve until he becomes the best player in the world. So he's more than fine.

 

Except-

 

He isn't really fine. He isn't okay. He isn't happy in Bayern _fucking_ Munich.

 

He misses home. He misses his old team mates. He misses Westfalenstadion more than anything else. He wants to go home. He doesn't want to be the one who betrayed his club. He wants to make it all undone. He wants to play in a yellow jersey, surrounded by the cheers from a yellow crowd. He feels out of place in red.

 

He never wanted to hurt anyone. Not himself, not-

 

Fuck.

 

He wants to go back to Dortmund, to his old team, to Marco. Marco, who probably doesn't even want to speak to Mario now. 

 

'You can't leave.' Marco said when Mario told him. And he repeated it until tears were streaming down his flushed cheeks. Mario started to cry, too.

 

Mario is crying, again. He can't sleep, he can't even relax enough to get some rest. He wants to go _home_. His apartment in Munich is too empty. It's too clean, almost like a hotel. It feels foreign without Marco's clothes in every room. It feels foreign without _Marco_. It's not his home. Maybe it is on the papers he signed as he moved in, but it doesn't feel like it.

 

He gets up from the bed with a deep sigh. He sits on the edge for a while, staring into thin air. It's cold, even for a german summer night. The hairs on his arms rise, and he shivers. He can feel the dried tears on his cheeks, how they make his skin itch. He gets up and walks across the cold floor to the bathroom. He flicks the lights on, and they burn his eyes. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, a mere shell of the person he used to be. His eyes are red and swollen, and the dark rings beneath them are more prominent than ever before. He wants to break the mirror, he wants to watch it fall apart into a thousand small pieces. He wants to break it until it is as broken as himself.

 

He picks up his phone when he goes back to bed. It's 4 AM, but he can't bring himself to care. He's long past that point. So he unlocks it and stares at the background. It's himself and Marco, smiling. They had it taken when Mario still only had thought about moving to Bayern. When Mario still was happy. 

 

He wants to text Marco, and tell him everything that's crossed his mind since he moved. That he misses home, misses Marco, that he fucking _loves_ - 

 

He can't. It's not worth the pain he knows he'll bring both of them. It's not worth the wait for a reply he'll never even get. It's not worth anything. 

 

Except-

 

Maybe it's worth everything. Maybe he'll feel better by easing the burden. But then again, easing the burden by putting it on Marco's shoulders instead isn't what he wants. So he types in the only thing that comes to his mind:

 

'Hey'

 

He knows it's stupid. It's _lame_. But he needs to talk to him, even if it's just small talk. He needs to know if he still matters.

 

He waits for an hour for a reply, and then realises that Marco probably isn't awake yet. So he lays his head against the pillow and falls asleep. Finally. 

 

Mario wakes up far too late. The sun breaks through the crack in his curtains, taunting him. He's more than thankful that they have the day off. He rolls over to the bedside table and checks his phone. It's 1 PM, and there's no reply from Marco. But Mario doesn't blame him. He would be hurt too, if his best friend left him. Mario wonders how different things will be during the World Cup. If Marco will talk to him. He can't imagine how much it would hurt to get ignored by Marco like that. Because-

 

_Fuck_.

 

He just wants to be near Marco again.

 

He just wants to go home.


End file.
